


Souls Entangled

by Ingeniarius_Mundos



Category: Amnesia: A Machine for Pigs
Genre: Alternate Timeline, An exploration of how things might have changed if the Engineer was created in Mandus's youth, Gen, Short snapshots of two souls, With the expected angst, Young Mandus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:49:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26630137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ingeniarius_Mundos/pseuds/Ingeniarius_Mundos
Summary: In which Oswald Mandus's soul is split in his childhood. A "what-if" AU.
Kudos: 2





	Souls Entangled

It is just after Oswald's tenth birthday when he first sees the boy.

The Mandus family has recently returned from a hunting trip to Mexico and, accustomed as Oswald became to the tropical heat, autumn in London feels all the colder. The night is bitter, full of rain and wind. He is very glad of his numerous blankets as he dims his bedside gaslamp and settles down for sleep.

On his lap is his mother's sketchbook. Adelaide Mandus has an artist's hands, and her charcoal sketches bring the trip back to life in Oswald's memory. His finger hovers over the lines, tracing the tangles of rich foliage, the stout walls of the lodge, the sprawl of an ancient pyramid. He recalls the sounds of birds in the canopy, the distant, deep-throated cough of a jaguar staking its territorial claims. He can almost smell the earthy dampness of the jungle soil. It makes him realize how he longs to see those temples rise into the sky again, rather than the chimneys of his father's meat-processing plant. The whole thing was a magnificent adventure to set fire to his imagination. He finds himself wishing he had stayed in Mexico rather than returning to his orderly upper-class life, where everything is decided for him.

Oswald closes the book with a sigh. Yes, he can remember every moment of the trip in vivid detail – every moment but one. No matter how he tries to fill that blank space in his memory, he cannot. His father unearthed a glowing blue stone in one of the temples; Oswald touched it curiously; he felt as if the world was splitting in two, and then…nothing. He supposes he'll never know what happened in that moment. It's late now anyway, and he's too sleepy to do any hard thinking.

He is just dozing off when he hears a tapping at his window. Thinking the wind has flung some acorns loose of the oak tree in the courtyard, he drowsily rolls over. He hears it again a moment later and dismisses it in the same manner. The third time, the sound is more insistent, and Oswald recognizes it for what it is: _knocking_. Something is knocking at his window.

Now quite awake, he lights the lamp on his night-table and slides cautiously out of bed. His heart races with a mix of fear and curiosity. Who could it be? His schoolmates wouldn't do this; he isn't close with any of them. An orphan, then, come to beg at the house? His feet sink into the carpet as he crosses to the window and hops up on the sill. He holds up the lamp to illuminate the blustery night outside.

He nearly topples backwards when he sees the boy sitting in the oak tree. The child is very strange in all respects. He is dressed as if he belongs in one of the Aztec temples, bright feathers in his hair and golden bands on his arms, wrists, and neck. Though an elaborate loincloth covers his upper legs and a cloak of blue rests on his shoulders, his chest is bare, and neither of his garments look heavy enough to protect him from the weather. Oswald shivers at the mere thought of how cold the boy must be.

What startles Oswald, however, is the boy's face, which is remarkably like his own. Perhaps it is a bit darker, and the eyes rather too wise to belong to a child, but aside from that, it's like looking in the mirror. More striking still is the immediate sense of kinship Oswald feels with this visitor. It's as if they've met before and know each other well, but Oswald cannot remember how.

He glances back at his bedroom door to make certain it's still closed. This done, he slides the window up and allows the boy to clamber in.

The child immediately collapses, tumbling over the window seat to sprawl on the floor. Frightened, Oswald sets the lamp down and kneels beside him. He lifts the boy's wet head onto his shoulder: the protectiveness with which his arms lock around his visitor is astonishingly instinctive. Why should he feel as though he has just been reunited with his long-lost brother? Why is he suddenly aware of an emptiness that this child is meant to fill?

He does not ask any of this. Instead, Oswald says, "Are you hurt?"

The boy shakes his head feebly. "I'll be fine once I warm up. I don't like the cold much." "How long were you out there?"

"Not long, just enough to climb that tree. I can't believe I found you, Oswald! I've been looking for you since you left Mexico!"

"How do you know I was there? How do you know _me_?"

The boy's smile falters a little. "Of course I am. Don't…don't you remember me?"

Oswald shakes his head. "Does it have something to do with the…" He trails off, knowing what his mother would say if she found out he let a visitor shiver on the floor while he asked the thousand questions on his tongue. "I need to get you warm. Here, can you stand up?"

Oswald helps his companion up. Recalling what his mother did for him when he was small and had bad dreams, he wraps the boy in several blankets and puts his arms around him. He asks if his visitor would like something warm to drink, but the child politely declines and rests his head on Oswald's shoulder instead.

Only when they are both warm and comfortable does Oswald ask, "Is this about the stone egg?" Touching the blue stone is the last thing Oswald remembers before feeling the world split in half; surely it is connected to the gap in his memory.

The boy props himself up on his elbows. "It's the reason I can be with you like this. I don't understand it, but it's magical. You were lonely, so you made a wish on the stone egg for someone to watch over you. It split your soul in half and gave me a body like yours, so I can keep you company."

Oswald clutches at his chest, not at all liking the thought of his soul being split.

"It showed me things," the boy goes on, stumbling a little now. "It showed me I'm meant to be a god. I don't know what that means…and it doesn't matter, because…"

Oswald is too preoccupied with his own amazement and confusion to notice the boy's voice trailing off. He is about to ask, "Are you _me_?" when he sees that his companion's dark eyes have filled with tears. "What's the matter?" Oswald asks urgently. "Are you sick?"

The child shakes his head, wiping his eyes. "It's only that I…I can't be a god, Oswald. Everyone already has their own. There's nothing left for me." His voice dissolves into hiccupping sobs.

Oswald feels his heart squeeze with pity. He cannot remember clearly, but the boy's story sounds vaguely familiar: Oswald's loneliness, both at home and at school, his wish for a best friend… Whatever the missing piece may be, he cannot deny that he feels somehow bound to this curious child. Oswald is as comfortable with him already as if they have been together all their lives. This would all make sense if the boy is indeed a part of Oswald's soul, and the moment of his creation was the moment Oswald felt the world crack in two.

Oswald tightens his arms around his companion. "Please don't cry," he says in what he hopes is a soothing voice. "So you can't save everyone, but…maybe you can save me."

The boy swallows his tears with a sniff and looks up. "What?"

"Maybe you can save me," Oswald repeats. "I…I think I need it. Father is always busy with work, and Mother with her charities. The boys at school think I'm strange because I want to work in Father's factory and I don't mind getting my hands dirty. What do they know, anyway? At least I'm not a spoiled little –"

Oswald stops himself as his voice rises passionately and his breathing turns harsh. His father has taught him never to let his emotions run away with him.

"What I mean to say," Oswald goes on more calmly, "is that I…I don't really have a friend. There's no one I can talk to who won't make fun of me or tell me to run along. Would…would you be my friend?"

The boy's damp face brightens a little. "I would like that," he says softly.

"What's your name, then?"

The boy tilts his head thoughtfully. "Oswin," he says at last. "Call me Oswin. It's close to your name. I'll be your twin, and you'll be mine, and I'll look after you always."

"My whole life long?"

Oswin nods gently, with a solemnity far beyond his youthful appearance. To seal their covenant, he removes one of his golden arm bands and places it on Oswald's wrist.

They fall asleep side by side that night. Oswald has never felt more content.

* * *

Oswin is better than his word. He watches over Oswald with a deep paternal concern, never once shying from his promise. Conveniently, Oswald's parents don't seem to see Oswin at all.

One afternoon, Oswald comes home early from school with a knot in his stomach that makes him want to be ill. Oswin is waiting for him in Oswald's room, and though he is dressed now as any other wealthy London boy, his eyes have lost none of their penetrating spark. He seems to know at once that something is wrong. He beckons Oswald into his arms, and Oswald goes, trembling all the while.

"What happened?" Oswin asks gently. "Did something go wrong at school?"

Oswald swallows the lump in his throat. "It was in the schoolyard. The boys are always saying I smell like pig even though I know I don't, and today they said I'm going to turn into a pig if I work in the factory, and then they started oinking at me, and I…I couldn't stand it anymore. We got into a fight. I hit the one who called me a pig. Master Unwin sent me home and said he'd be telling Father about it. When he finds out, I know he'll give me a switching!"

To be fair to Bartholomew Mandus, it could never be said that he does not love his son in his own way. It is a hard sort of love, however. Mr. Mandus is very conscious that success hinges entirely upon one's reputation. His greatest fear is that Oswald will tarnish his good name as a boy and have doors slammed in his face later in life. London high society rarely forgets or forgives. It is impossible to tell which incidents will come to naught and which will be lifelong stigma. Thus, Mr. Mandus has resolved not to allow any incidents at all, and that makes him a strict disciplinarian. Still, he rarely uses a switch on Oswald. He does not like doing that at all. Contrary to what Oswald might believe, it makes Bartholomew's stomach turn.

Presently, Oswin's eyes narrow. "No," he says firmly. "He'll give _me_ a switching." Oswald stifles a gasp. "You can't!"

"Why not? I can be seen if I want to be, and I look just like you. Your father will never know the difference."

"I can't let you get hurt for me!"

Oswin squeezes his hand reassuringly. "It won't hurt me much. I heal faster than you do. I promised I would protect you, didn't I?"

"But I –"

"Hush. I'll be fine."

The two have been together long enough now for Oswald to recognize that tone of voice.

He knows there will be no bargaining with Oswin today.

When Master Unwin arrives that evening, Oswald hides away in his bedroom while his other half goes to face the consequences. Oswald reaches out with his mind to share some of the burden, but he finds himself blocked. Oswin clearly does not want him to have any part in this.

Oswin returns later that night, and Oswald hears the soft sobs he is trying valiantly to stifle. He puts his arms gingerly around the boy, doing his utmost not to touch his back. He can feel Oswin's shoulders shaking.

"It's all right," says the child, scrubbing at his face. "I didn't say anything to your father that would get you in more trouble."

Oswald shakes his head fervently. "What about _you_ _?_ "

Oswin gently releases himself from Oswald's arms. "I'm fine. It's already healing. Are you hungry? I'll get you some food; I can't be seen unless I want to be."

Oswald catches the boy's hand. "No, you should rest." "I'll rest once you've eaten."

* * *

If Oswin guards Oswald as best he can, Oswald does the same for him. One afternoon, Oswin meets him on the way home from school. Oswald's class was released late that particular day, so they decide to take a shortcut through narrow back streets to get home faster. Soon enough, they are lost. Worse than that, it is December, and the air is cold and threatening rain. By the time they realize where they are, they are both soaked through. Oswin, Oswald knows, has a strange vulnerability to cold, perhaps because he is not precisely human as Oswald is human. This time is the worst Oswald has ever seen. The boy seems to fall gravely ill in the space of moments. Soon he can barely stand, and Oswald is left to support him as he coughs and wheezes for breath.

When they reach the house at last, Oswald knows his parents will be waiting for him with any number of questions. "I have to talk to them," he tells Oswin. "Can you make it upstairs?"

Oswin's eyes are barely open now, but he manages a nod and a faint smile.

Oswald, dancing from foot to foot with anxiety, answers as many questions as he can before he bursts out, "I only got lost, that's all! I'm fine!" Then he dashes upstairs as fast as his tired legs can carry him.

His bedroom door is slightly ajar. He pushes it open, peering into the darkness inside. "Oswin?" he calls softly.

A voice so feeble that it is more of a breath answers him: "Oswald, put your arms around me…please."

Oswald is at his friend's side at once, cradling the boy against his chest. Oswin has burrowed into several layers of blankets, but Oswald can still feel his violent shivers. He should be burning with fever, but instead his skin is like ice. Oswald pulls up one of the blankets around Oswin's head like a hood.

"Rest on my shoulder," he says, praying that the fear he feels is not evident in his voice. "Go to sleep. I'm here now. I'm here."

Oswin nestles gratefully against him and closes his eyes. Even this small movement seems to sap all his strength. An hour later, he has achieved nothing but a hazy delirium somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. No matter how he tries, the cold will not let him sleep. Oswald notices this too, and it terrifies him. He has never seen Oswin so desperately weak. He cannot bear the thought of losing his best friend, his brother. Oswin makes him so very happy, keeps him company and shares in his every experience. Oswald has never felt so complete.

Suddenly a thought strikes him. He gently nudges his companion. "Oswin, are you awake?"

"Do you need something, Oswald?" Oswin asks feebly, selfless as ever.

"Don't be silly! I think I know how to help you. Those temples in Mexico, that was where they offered blood to make the gods strong, right? Well…what if I gave you some of my blood? Would that make _you_ strong?"

Oswin shakes his head. "No, don't…I don't want you to be hurt."

Oswald is as stubborn as his other half. He has already crossed to his bedside table and taken out his pocketknife. Gritting his teeth, he pulls his sleeve back from his palm and makes a small cut.

The sudden burst of pain makes him cry out. Oswin whimpers softly and says, "Oh, _don_ _'t_ …"

Oswald squeezes his hand into a fist and lets the blood drip onto a sheet of paper on his night-table. "It's fine. It's just a scratch."

As if in spite of himself, Oswin lifts his head a few inches as Oswald places the paper in the embers of the hearth fire. The smell is not that of meat or iron, as Oswald thinks it should be. It is sweet, perfumed, with an undercurrent of power. Oswin takes shuddering breaths of the smoke. When he has had enough, he sinks back onto his pillows and falls asleep.

Faintly disturbed though he is, Oswald cannot help but smile when he feels how much warmer his companion's skin is.

In the morning, Oswin is much revived – in fact, he wakes before his other half. He spends a moment contemplating Oswald's sleeping face, wishing he could always be as peaceful as he looks now. When at last Oswald does wake, his first words are for Oswin: "How are you feeling?"

"A little weak, but all right," says Oswin. "I just needed to get warm."

"You were so sick," says Oswald, breathless with anxiety. "I was so worried about you, I thought you might…" He cannot bring himself to finish the sentence.

Oswin makes a regretful noise in his throat. "I'm sorry, Oswald. Have you had any sleep, or were you up all night?"

Oswald can hardly believe what he's hearing. "Think about yourself for once!" he laughs, giving his companion a gentle shove. He winces in doing so, and Oswin catches sight of the cut on his palm.

"Did you hurt yourself when we were trying to get home yesterday?" he asks.

"No, I…I offered you my blood last night. I thought it would give you strength. You tried to stop me, but you're so much better this morning, so I –" Oswald stops when he sees that Oswin's eyes are full of tears. "What's wrong? It doesn't hurt, really."

Oswin wants to explain that blood is a sacred gift second only to beating hearts, and those who render it unto the gods are accorded eternal honor. He understands now that Oswald has very likely saved his life, and his gratitude is beyond words. He wants to say all this, but his throat is too tight. Instead, he buries his face in Oswald's hands and murmurs through his tears, "I'll never forget this. Never, never, never."

Oswald, tired and bewildered but relieved, merely holds his companion close.

* * *

As the boys grow up, it becomes clear that they both have an affinity for invention and machinery. Oswald has always liked to tinker and build things, but it is even more so with Oswin. He wanders unseen through Bartholomew Mandus's factory, studying all the pipes and wheels until he could navigate them in the dark. In him, Oswald's mechanical inclinations have their apotheosis. This makes sense: Oswin does everything Oswald does, but better. He is smarter, kinder, braver.

Oswin makes a routine of disappearing into the pipes to fix small things here and there, quietly ensuring everything runs smoothly. When something breaks down, he slips behind the workers' backs and repairs it before anyone knows what's happened. As they grow older and Oswald learns more and more about the factory in preparation for taking it over, Oswin's power deepens. Oswald sees him place his hand on steam conduits and hears the flow stabilize. It's as if Oswin can send his spirit through the machinery and bend it to his will. Never mind the fact that he is entirely unharmed by the heat of the steam.

In spite of how quickly he outstrips Oswald, Oswin remains modest. Indeed, if he fixes something important enough that Bartholomew is informed, he lets Oswald take the credit.

* * *

Oswald has been taught not to trust happiness. Even so, it is a shock when his idyllic life with Oswin comes to an end.

The stone egg has been largely forgotten since that first rainy night. Oswin doesn't think much about its call to godhood. He is quite content to watch over Oswald. One night, though, when he and Oswald are looking for something to entertain them, the strange stone comes suddenly back into his mind.

"The stone egg shows the future, you know," he says with a mischievous grin. Oswald's eyes widen. "You're fooling!"

"Never. It showed me your wife and children – twin boys."

Oswin takes advantage of Oswald's stunned silence to drag him upstairs. He takes the softly glowing blue stone out of the dresser and sets it on the bed. "Here, watch. You'll –"

Oswin's voice catches as his hands inadvertently grasp the stone. Try as he might, he can't pull them away. His eyes go wide with panic and all the color drains from his face. "No," he breathes. "No, no, stop it, I don't want to see…" He shakes his head fervently and screws his eyes shut, but that doesn't stop the terrifying visions that flood his mind.

Oswald, sick with fear, can do nothing but watch. He has never felt so helpless in all his life. Oswin's screams crescendo until he can bear it no more. Oswald gathers his dearest friend into his arms and presses Oswin's face against his shoulder, praying that somehow it will help. He catches indistinct flashes of what Oswin is seeing: fields dyed red, bones in the jungle, a blinding light that sets the sky on fire. He has no idea what it means, and he doesn't want to.

After an eternity, the visions stop. Oswin goes limp, shuddering and panting for breath.

Oswald holds him tightly and tries to steady his own heart. "What _was_ that?" he asks, dreading the answer.

Oswin shakes his head. "I can't tell you," he gasps. "It's too awful, but I… Oh, I've waited too long. This was to remind me, I know it… I'm meant to save you all. It's coming, and I have to stop it."

"What's coming?" Oswald presses desperately.

"The new century. I – no. I can't tell you. I…I just want to sleep. I don't think I can talk about it right now. I want to sleep."

Oswald is perhaps more frightened than Oswin because he saw only fragments of the visions, and his mind is filling in the gaps with the most horrible things he can imagine. Still, when he sees the tears slipping down Oswin's pale face, he does not argue.

It is subtle, but after that day, Oswin is not quite so carefree, and a light that once shone in his eyes has gone out.

* * *

If the incident with the stone egg alters Oswin's personality, it does not change his feelings towards Oswald. Indeed, as the years go on, he becomes more protective still. As young adults, they take over the Mandus family factory together, and they hope and scheme to make it better than ever. Oswald has learned much of mechanics and design by now. Talented as he is in this regard, Oswin is, as always, more gifted still. Sometimes Oswald swears his other half can see into the future with his industrial innovations.

But then, Oswin _has_ seen the future, hasn't he? Oswald can only hope that his mechanical designs are drawn from some of those visions – that not everything the stone egg showed him was horrible.

For the most part, business is good. The workers don't fear Oswald as they did his stern, arrogant father, but they do admire him. He works amongst them sometimes when things are busy. At first, they are stunned – they've never seen a rich man willing to soak his hands in pig's blood – but they quickly come to accept it. They always call him "sir," and they don't sound forced. He isn't certain when he transitioned from "Oswald" to the important-sounding "Mr. Mandus," but he rather likes it. He has even begun to think of himself that way, even though it makes him feel that he's left his youth behind forever.

Oswin is a determined, inventive business partner. He can move unseen if he likes, but he chooses to make himself known to the workers and investors. His penetrating stare comes in handy: when Oswald has important business meetings, Oswin stands at his shoulder and intimidates the customers with his eyes. None of them dare to talk down the offered prices.

Oswin passes himself off as Oswald's brother, and the workers call him "Mr. Mandus" as well, or else "Mr. Mandus's engineer." Oswald isn't certain where that title came from, but it fits. Oswin did design much of the new machinery they use, after all, and he certainly has a great affinity for it.

It's only when Oswin begins referring to _himself_ as "the Engineer" that Oswald feels the faintest flicker of unease. He doesn't like the impersonality of this title. It almost seems as if his dearest friend is distancing himself from humanity, becoming part of the machinery he cherishes.

He tries not to think about it. They have grown up together, shared every experience since they were boys of ten. Surely nothing will change now. To Oswald, his companion will always be Oswin, his twin, the heart of his heart.

* * *

The day Oswald Mandus marries Lilibeth Beckham is the happiest of his life. The joy that swells his heart is tempered only by the fact that he knows Oswin is troubled. For years, he has been Oswald's closest companion – his only companion, really – and now he feels Lily has replaced him. He never says so, but Oswald knows. He sees how Oswin staggers down to the factory at night, pale and wide-eyed and shaking, muttering things like, "I'm not strong enough." Oswald thinks he is spending far too much time with the machinery and the stone egg. He doesn't come to Oswald for comfort anymore. He just sits in the bowels of the factory, his head against the sleeping engines, and shivers.

Oswald misses him dearly, but he doesn't know how to help him.

* * *

Lilibeth's death knocks the world out from under Oswald's feet, but in the midst of that blackest darkness, there are two lights. One is the twin baby boys who now carry Lily's life within them, along with their mother's golden hair. Oswald has never felt such a consuming love as he bears to them. As frightened as he is of raising these children alone, this love blunts his grief.

The second light begins to burn just after Lily's funeral. Oswin comes to him for the first time in ages and holds him tightly until Oswald has no more tears left. There is no Engineer, no Mr. Mandus, only two lost souls taking comfort in each other.

It lasts only a moment, but for that time, it's as if they are boys again.

* * *

In the blink of an eye, Edwin and Enoch are nine years old, nearly the same age as Oswald when he first met Oswin.

He blinks again, and his business is failing, broken on the cost of expanding and updating the factory machines. He needs something, anything to change his fortunes. He casts back in his memory for something happy to lift his spirits, and by so doing, he remembers Mexico. Surely those old stones hold objects that would fetch a pretty price, were he to offer them to the British Museum. He decides to leave his work unfinished and take to the Americas.

Oswin is only too eager to go with him – desperate, even. He has been growing paler and wilder by the day, consumed by terrible visions only he can see. Oswald can only hope his dear friend will find answers in the jungles too – and come back to him at last.

Another blink, and he has lost an entire year of his life. He recalls falling ill in Mexico, but why should that have left such a vast gap in his memory? If he thinks hard, he can trace his life back to one instance: Oswin kneeling beside him, shrouded in a robe of pale blue and speaking in an ancient language, while Oswald burned with fever.

As Oswald struggles to piece things together, his office telephone rings, and a voice that is at once familiar and strange says, " _Precious eagle cactus fruit… Help_ _us_."

It is 10:00 p.m. on New Year's Eve, 1899.

* * *

The voice on the telephone tells Oswald that his children are in danger. He recalls that water from the sewers is used to power the turbines, and that two sluice gates keep the flood from wandering where it shouldn't. These have apparently failed, trapping Edwin and Enoch deep in the factory. Oswald has no choice but to obey. He takes a lantern from the cellar and begins his descent.

Did he not love his boys so dearly, Oswald would never have been able to withstand that downward journey. He sees many things that ought to have remained unseen. There is a laboratory with vials of a glowing liquid that hisses in its containers, and an examination chair with thick leather restraints. There is a great metal tank of some sort, and beneath it a pool of blue water and rods that radiate power. _Reactor_ , his mind whispers, though he does not know the meaning of the word (indeed, the word does not yet exist). Once he opens the sluice gates and diverts the flood,

he finds a culvert that runs with more blood than Oswald has ever seen. Lower down, there are vast rooms where lightning arcs between metal coils that hum in an eerie harmony.

There are abominations, too, half man and half pig, their skins fused with bits of metal. Some of them scream in fury and chase Oswald into other parts of the factory. Others just sit in the corners and hang their malformed heads.

Deep, deep, deep down, Oswald finds a beating heart, held aloft by four metal arms and linked to the machinery by a halo of wires.

Deepest of all, he comes to a vast subterranean temple. He marvels at the stillness and the palpable sense of death. At the summit waits a figure both familiar and strange, all veiled in pale blue. Beneath this garment, Oswald can see the dull glitter of Mexican finery. Something is wrong, though – where there ought to be golden bands on the figure's wrists, there are gauntlets of metal, each fitted with slender vials of that unholy compound. Indeed, every inch of the figure's exposed skin seems to pulse faintly with a blue glow. It makes Oswald wonder what runs in his veins, for surely it is not blood.

Oswald drops to his knees before the Engineer, exhausted and horrified. "What have you done?" he rasps.

"What I would have done ages ago if not for your ridiculous, misguided sense of morality." There is nothing of Oswin's warmth in that voice. This being has become part of the machine. There is nothing left of the bright, selfless boy Oswald once knew. He is only the

Engineer now, the machine and the stone egg and the high priest of this temple.

"I did what the stone egg instructed me to do. I brought it back to Mexico a year ago, and it said I was ready to become a god. It told me everything. You saw the reactor, I presume, and the fuel rods. With tonight's sacrifices, there is enough Compound X to crack the egg of the world and bathe these lands in cleansing fire. Come midnight, I will fling the last switches and deliver humanity to the stars. I will save the world by blood now before millions fall beneath history, beneath the weight of the coming century."

Oswald's stomach floods with ice. He wants to be ill. Every inch of his soul rebels against what he hears, but he cannot stop memories from rising to the surface, dominated by a single word: _nuclear_. Suddenly, he remembers only too well what that means.

"You…you cannot possibly mean to destroy the world!" he gasps.

Beneath his blue veil, the Engineer's face is pale with years of strain, but his eyes are full of a wild excitement. "I do. Why allow mankind to suffer the wars of the next hundred years when I can save them? I can give them a quick death now and spare them a century of slaughter."

"And…the good, the worthy?"

"There are none."

Oswald swallows hard and tries again. "Surely whatever the stone egg showed you cannot be so horrible as to warrant this!"

"You did not see it, Mandus! I did!"

"And it told you that you ought to destroy the world, to end our suffering by ending our lives? I beg your pardon, but that is the most idiotic idea I've ever heard!"

The Engineer only laughs. "You swine have no idea what is best for you. I do."

"Did the Orb tell you that as well?"

"Of course."

Oswald exhales forcefully. He can feel time running out, and he knows the Engineer is beyond reason. He stands up and takes a cautious step closer to his other half.

"And did it also tell you," he says, choosing his words with great care, "that you have to stay down here in the cold? You always hated the cold, didn't you? It made you sick." He remembers more and more as he speaks, and he grows bolder. "It's because of that compound in your veins, isn't it? You replaced all your blood with Compound X – blood was too impure, too _human_ for you. It has to be kept cold or else it decays, but the cold makes you ill. That means you need more of the compound to make you strong again, and so you have to keep yourself even colder. Don't you see the cycle of suffering you've trapped yourself in? Don't you see what it's done to you? Look at you! You're not a god, you're a slave to that stone!"

Emboldened by the Engineer's silence, Oswald reaches up to lift the veil from his counterpart's face.

This elicits a snarl. "Don't touch me, you filthy pig!"

Oswald catches the Engineer's wrist and turns it aside. "How many nights did it torment you since that first time you saw the new century? Did you believe you had to stop coming to me for comfort and reassurance? Did you believe that you must suffer alone, or else you wouldn't be strong enough for your… _sacred_ _task?_ " Oswald sneers the last two words. "Did you believe you no longer needed me – that I would only weaken you? Did that stone really speak to you, or have you been hearing the voice of your own fear and hurt and loneliness all this time?"

The Engineer blinks uncertainly. "You know nothing…" The bite is gone from his voice.

"Oh, I know all about you, my old friend," Oswald goes on, voice rising. "I know you better than anyone. I remember a boy who came to be my guardian. He took my father's punishments and gave me credit for fixing the machines even when I'd done nothing. Do you remember his name?"

The Engineer's lips twitch ever so slightly, as though he wants to say the word but cannot allow it. Oswald tries again to lift his veil, and this time he meets no resistance. The dark eyes beneath hold no hate, only fear and infinite despair.

" _Oswin_ ," Oswald says. He feels a shudder run through his companion. "Heart of my heart. You remember."

The Engineer sinks slowly to his knees.

"That night I was so ill, you…you gave me your blood," he murmurs breathlessly. "You weakened yourself to make me strong. I told you not to, but you did it anyway – willingly, not like the sacrifices I've offered to the machine. _Willingly._ Why would you…how could you…"

"Does that make me good and worthy?" Oswald presses. He is close now, so close. The Engineer nods in stunned silence.

"That stone never told you anything," Oswald goes on. He's taking shots in the dark now, but he prays they will work. "All it did was show you the visions and let you do the rest. These voices you've been hearing, they're nothing but your own horror and grief twisting your mind. You saw horrific things and some part of your soul cried out, _Enough!_ _You_ _are_ _a_ _god,_ _you_ _can_ _stop_ _this!_ Even in the beginning – the stone may have split your soul from mine, but it didn't send you to look after me. _You_ did that, because you have a good heart, Oswin. You want to save. You call yourself the Engineer, for goodness' sake: engineers _build_ , not destroy. You don't need that stone. You don't need to be afraid. I'm here for you. Come back to me, and we'll do whatever we can to ease the coming century."

The Engineer's eyes flicker. "You can't stop it…"

"No, but it was never our duty to stop it. Can't you see? That stone is no friend to you. It laid a burden on your shoulders that should never have been yours."

Silence.

"Never mind the world, then; can you destroy _me_ , my dear friend?" Oswald has no idea of this question will save him, but it's worth a try. "You may become a god, but you'll be alone. Can you look me in the eyes and pull the last switches?"

The Engineer goes limp, as if he's never thought of this before. He begins to shake. "I…I…"

It's just enough. Oswald takes him in his arms and holds him tight.

"It's too much, Mandus…"

"Then share it with me."

* * *

"You were such a compassionate soul until the Orb showed you the future. That filled you full of hate."

Oswald sits at the summit of the temple with his companion's head cradled on his shoulder. His counterpart is very weak from the cold, and he has not been out of the factory depths in months. For all that, he is Oswin again, more than he has been in ages.

"I could have gone through with it as long as I believed there was no good left in this world," Oswin says, "but somewhere in my heart I never forgot the way you gave me your blood that night. You are the one person on this earth worth sparing." He closes his eyes wearily. "Your children are safe, you know. Locked in the attic nursery. I only told you they were in danger because I knew it would make you fix the machine."

"Because I was the one who sabotaged it in the first place, knowing what you planned to do," Oswald sighs, remembering. "Tell me truly: how much did I have to do with building all this?"

Oswin swallows hard. "Everything. But it wasn't your fault, Mandus. You were so sick when you came back from Mexico. The Orb took enough of the illness from you so that you could work, but not enough that you could think clearly. You listened to whatever I told you. It was an awful thing to do, but I didn't know what else there was to be done…" He begins to shiver harder, and Oswald tightens his protective grip.

"I feel as if I've hardly been alive at all of late," Oswin goes on. "I wanted it to stop, I did, but I was so afraid I couldn't think, and hatred was better than fear. Ascension was my way out. But all those people I killed… What am I to do, Mandus?"

Oswin's voice breaks, and he begins to weep softly. It is the most mournful sound Oswald has ever heard. He tucks Oswin close, wishing he could shield them both from all that has happened. "It's over now," he murmurs. It isn't – it's only just begun, and his heart falters at the prospect – but what else can he say? "The world is still here. That's something."

Oswin gives a choked laugh.

"Don't think about it now," Oswald continues. "Let me think about it for a while. You're not at all well, and you need to heal. Now, tell me: how warm can it be before that compound in your veins begins to break down? I want to bring you upstairs, and I need to know if that will harm you."

Oswin considers for a moment, then says almost fearfully, "I think I can manage…if I drink plenty of water. That should keep me cool enough."

 _Well,_ _that's_ _a_ _small_ _victory_ , Oswald thinks. They will both need to focus on small victories if they are to survive the days ahead.

That night is the longest they have ever known. Edwin and Enoch do not seem frightened at being left in the attic nursery – after all, it has been their playroom since they were babes – and once Oswald assures them that all is well, they go straight to sleep. That leaves him to manage his other half as best he can.

Oswin puts up no resistance at all; on the contrary, he seems to have given up entirely. They have only just reached the downstairs parlor when Oswin collapses on a chaise, and Oswald doesn't have the heart to move him. He is utterly still, tears slipping listlessly down his cheeks, as Oswald removes the metal gauntlets on his arms and tucks the twin vials of Compound X safely away. Far from fury at what has happened tonight, Oswald feels only pity. His hatred is directed at the Orb for sending Oswin those visions. He can scarcely imagine how terrified his dear friend must have been to do what he has done. Oswald has half a mind to throw the stone beneath one of the pistons and smash it.

That night, their roles are reversed. Oswald becomes the guardian as he watches over Oswin all through the dark hours. He can't bear to think what part he must have had in Oswin's plans, and what blood must surely stain his hands. Days of struggle and grief lie ahead for them both, and Oswald wonders how they will survive with their sanity intact. All he can think about now is getting Oswin well. The rest is too crushing to comprehend, and besides, Oswin needs him. The cold months he has spent deep below the factory have not agreed with him at all, even with the compound beating back the worst of it. No doubt it will take him weeks to be strong again, if he recovers at all.

That is perhaps what upsets Oswald most of all. He knows full well that Oswin will never be the same brave, kind, carefree spirit who drew Oswald out of the depths of loneliness. For that, he will never forgive the stone egg.

Some time during the night, Oswin stirs fitfully and whimpers, "I'm so sorry, Mandus…"

Oswald smooths his companion's thick black hair, the blackest he has ever seen. "Hush. I know you are. Rest, dear one. You're safe now. I'm here."

The words are well-chosen, for that is all Oswin has ever needed to know.


End file.
